<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>american grunge by americangrunge</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721097">american grunge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/americangrunge/pseuds/americangrunge'>americangrunge</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Love Island (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Feelings Realization, Mild Smut, seb is a dummy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:15:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/americangrunge/pseuds/americangrunge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Do you know how hard it is to exist in this relationship knowing everyone thinks your soul mate isn’t me?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>About as hard as wondering if they’re right, Seb thinks.</i>
</p><p>---</p><p>Or, the one where Seb decides to try things with Genevieve and can't stop the what-ifs.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Seb/Main Character (Love Island)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>american grunge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Full disclaimer: I am *not* a smut writer.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Seb, do you mind if I pull you for a chat?”</p><p>He nods, pushing his sunglasses to the crown of his head. Water bottle dangling from his fingertips, he follows her to a vacant daybed and props himself up amongst the pillows. Much like it always is, the Spanish sun is relentless and they both breathe a sigh of relief to be out of its reach for even a moment.</p><p>Sighing, her fingers busy themselves with the duvet, and it’s the first time Seb realizes how tense things are between them. “All right?” he asks, concern twisting his soft features.</p><p>She’s quiet for a moment, and Seb almost thinks she doesn’t hear him, until finally: “I… I broke things off with Bill.”</p><p>“Oh,” is all he can think of to say. Part of him knew it was coming, knew her heart had never really been in it, especially not with someone like Bill, but he’s still surprised to hear her say it’s over between them. Love Island is still a game, after all. “I’m sorry. How are you?”</p><p>She shrugs, the tattoos inked into her bronzed skin moving with her shoulders as she does so. “Okay,” she admits. “I mean, you know everything that’s been going on, so I’m not really upset or anything. I guess I mostly feel a bit guilty. He really liked me.”</p><p>That line will win Understatement of the Year, Seb is certain of it. Most of his days thus far have been consumed by Bill’s endless prattling, especially as far as Gemma is concerned. The lad didn’t shut up about her for a second. Even if Seb <em> did </em>believe in love at first sight, he’d still know this prick was full of shit. He’d played his hand far too early, exposed whatever game he was trying to play. Bill thought he’d already won—he had the fittest girl in the Villa on his arm, kept telling her over and over how strongly he felt, and he’d thought it was enough. Someone should’ve told him you can’t force things like that.</p><p>“What are you gonna do now?” Seb asks. A trio of new people had come in the day before. The girl was cute and into music; Seb wonders if it might work out with her if Genevieve rejects him like he’s wholly expecting her to.</p><p>Gemma sucks in a breath. “I, uh—that’s why I pulled you, actually.”</p><p>Seb cocks an eyebrow, also wondering if this is going where he thinks it might. “Oh?”</p><p>“How…” She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something inevitable. It’s weird to see her this way, jittery and unsure. Usually, she was so confident and sure of herself. She’d had half the Villa wrapped around her finger from the second she walked in. “Howdoyoufeelaboutme?” she rushes out, not daring to catch Seb’s eye.</p><p>“What?” he asks. “Did—did you ask how I felt about you?”</p><p>She nods meekly. “You can be honest. We’re mates, so you don’t have to spare my feelings.”</p><p>Well, fuck. Okay. He hadn’t been expecting this. Whatever appearances he wants to keep up are nullified as soon as he opens his mouth and says “Gem…” in a tone that screams he’s going to let her down.</p><p>She moves to leave, but Seb gently grabs her thin wrist between his fingers. “Gem, please, just give me a second.”</p><p>He can see the struggle on her face, and he knows it well: knowing you should decline and preserve whatever’s left of your self-esteem, but also feeling the inescapable lure of morbid curiosity, wondering just how in-depth this rejection’s going to be, if the person dishing it out is going to cut you down to size and air out every single thing that’s wrong with you. Wondering if it’ll crush you enough you can disappear completely so you won’t have to deal with the aftermath of it all.</p><p>“I… You just…” He sighs, knowing he shouldn’t have asked her to stay, should’ve left it as soon as she got the hint. “It’s not you, Gem. You’re practically bloody perfect, all right? It’s just… I’m in a weird place right now, is all.”</p><p>Her gaze is locked on the horizon as she says, “Because you like Genevieve.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he confirms, and it feels all wrong coming out of his mouth. “I—I think I need to find out if that could be something real.”</p><p>Sure, that’s true, but he doesn’t even know how she feels about him. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t love his odds. He never does, that’d been the whole reason he applied for this stupid charade to begin with, because how could someone as smart and beautiful as Genevieve fancy a miserable sack of shit like Seb?</p><p>Gemma smiles sadly, and he can imagine the tears pricking at her eyes behind her sunglasses. “It will be, Seb. She’d be a fool not to feel the same.”</p><p>“I don’t want you to think this is on you,” he says, meeting her height as he stands. “You’re my best mate here, and I don’t—”</p><p>Her breath hitches as the mention of their friendship, a dagger in her already wounded heart. Is it selfish of him to want to keep that? Is it selfish to ask her to torture herself over and over with the knowledge that she’s good enough to be his mate and nothing more? <em> Yeah, probably, </em> he concedes, but he’s nearing desperate to keep her. How do people on the telly make this look so easy? How do people in normal circumstances deal with the fallout of their best friend having feelings for them?</p><p>Or don’t they?</p><p>“I don’t think I can just be friends with you,” she admits. The air is heavy as she takes a moment to collect herself. “I’ll… I need some space, I think. I’ll give you the same to figure things out with Gen.” She squeezes his bicep as she offers up another sad smile. “She’ll be good for you, babe.”</p><p>Paralysis grips him as he watches her walk away. Tai catches her in the kitchen and barely has to ask what’d happened before he pulls her against him, dwarfing her in his frame and wrapping his arms around her the way Seb used to.</p><p><em> Space. </em>What does that even mean? Perhaps naively, Seb figures it means having a good cry, spending an afternoon in bed to feel sorry for themselves, and things slowly going back to normal in a few days. They’ll have more conversations about music and their lives back home and eventually confide in one another about their new couples. Seb will wax poetic about his cat and her kittens and Gemma will smile in a way that lights up her face, because that’s what she always does when he talks about Doom.</p><p>But none of that happens.</p><p>The first day is the hardest. They meet in the kitchen as Gemma’s fixing herself a cup of coffee. Seb says good morning and moves to ask how she is, but she’s gone without a spared glance in his direction. Tai sidles up a few minutes later and gives him a tight-lipped smile that Seb can only describe as <em> pitying </em>. Gemma doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.</p><p>By day three, Seb feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. Nicky’s all he’s got in the friendship department now, and even though he encourages him to tell Gen how he feels, Seb can tell his heart’s not in it. Pleasantry is all it is, and he finds himself wondering if everyone but him had known all along. Did Nicky and AJ know how she felt? Has she talked to Gen? All his thoughts are focused on Gemma—what she’s doing, how she’s feeling, if she’s planning on ever speaking to him again.</p><p>And then anger consumes him. This isn’t fair. She’s going to throw away their friendship and never speak to him just because he didn’t return her feelings? <em> So what? </em> What gives her the right to decide this unilaterally? He doesn’t get a say? He’s not allowed to say <em> no, I don’t want this—I want whatever you’re willing to give me, because having nothing is tearing me apart</em>?</p><p>It’s that same anger that pushes him further to Genevieve—who, by some act of divine intervention, says she feels the same about him and wants to give it a go. Things are good with her. They have fun together. She makes him laugh, kisses him with purpose and want, and he feels like he’s good enough when he’s with her, like somewhere along the line he’d done something right to deserve a girl like her hanging off his arm. There’s safety and security in Gen. Seb has always played it safe, and it’s never let him down, even now.</p><p>Most importantly, Gen helps him forget about the brief glimpse he’d gotten of Gemma—helps him forget how it’d felt to experience true companionship, to have that one person he could bare his soul to without fear of judgment.</p><p>As the days go on, he doesn’t allow himself to miss Gemma because she made sure there was nothing left to miss.</p><p>“Are you serious about whatever this is between you and Gen?” Nicky asks. It’s the night before the finale and they’re both bordering on drunk.</p><p>“Of course,” Seb says, his eyes trained on the fire in front of him. “What makes you think I’m not?”</p><p>His friend—the only other one he’d managed to make all summer—shrugs, clearly at war with himself. “It’s… I <em> do</em>,” he decides to say, “but I wonder sometimes what would’ve happened if we’d made different choices in here.”</p><p>Seb’s stomach drops. “You mean with Gemma?” It’s almost as if his entire being needs to know where she is at all times—it’s the only way he can explain how easily he can find her in a crowded room, as if he can sense her. She’s sat by the pool with Tai, her toes dipped in the water as they both laugh at something he says. Why does the sight of them together feel like fire needling at his skin? “No, I don’t really think about that.” <em> Because it’s too painful</em>, he finishes in his head. “What would you have done differently, then?”</p><p>Nicky looks at him like he’s stupid. “Well, I’m obviously in a right mess with Lily and El’s gone, so I keep going over it all in my head and wondering if I’d done something to get here.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you leave with her?”</p><p>His friend winces, though the question is long overdue. Nicky knows he’ll have to explain the same thing to Elladine once he’s finally out of here. “I wanted to—almost <em> did</em>,” he corrects himself. “But I didn’t think it was the right thing to do.”</p><p>Seb can’t help the scoff that erupts from him. “How do you reckon that? Even Rafi walked out when he couldn’t have the person he wanted.”</p><p>“It was easier for him,” Nicky argues. “He wasn’t all that attached to anyone here.”</p><p>“And you are?” Seb asks, his tone skeptical.</p><p>Nicky slugs him on the shoulder, his laugh infectious. “Of course I am, you fucking prick.” He sighs, his gaze suddenly dropped into his lap. “El will understand, I think. I <em> hope</em>. I just… it felt wrong pitching a tantrum and leaving Lily here on her own, even if she did fuck me over.”</p><p>“And…?” Seb prompts, earning him another slug.</p><p>“<em>And,</em>” he begins, side-eyeing him with a bemused smile, “I didn’t want to leave you here on your own.”</p><p>Seb’s chest tightens even though he’d been expecting to hear it. “I would’ve been fine,” he lies. “I have Gen, you know.”</p><p>Nicky doesn’t press it. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’m sure you would’ve been, mate.”</p><p>The next night, he sits across from Gemma as they wait for the results of the public vote. Words bite at the back of his teeth, begging him to say something, <em> anything </em>to her, but he can’t gather the stones to do it. What could he possibly say?</p><p>Nicky and Lily get eliminated first, finishing in fourth place, and it’s seemingly all he can do to pull her in for a friendly hug before he’s off, clearly in search of Elladine. Lily tries to keep her head high as she follows him, walking out alone, but she’s very obviously stung. Genevieve grasps his hand tighter and he mumbles an apology for how sweaty it is.</p><p>Camilo and Iona come in third, the latter trying to look pleased as she chews on the realization of losing to a friendship couple. <em> Fuck this, we actually like each other</em>, Seb imagines her saying, but she’d been trying hard all summer to play nice. She’s not going to throw it away now, when her one moment of bitterness would play out in real time and be front page news, so she hangs off Camilo’s arm as he hugs the four remaining Islanders, congratulating them.</p><p>And then there were two.</p><p>Tai is talking to her in hushed whispers, clearly not meant for prying eyes and ears. Whatever he says makes her smile, and it’s the first time Seb has seen it up close since their disastrous conversation. It makes him feel invincible and warm, and he doesn’t bother trying to remember if Gen’s smile has ever made him feel like that, too.</p><p>When he finally catches her eye, green on brown like a detailed landscape, he begs his body not to crumble. He finally sees it, realizes all the instances in which he’d gone wrong, and he knows now what Nicky meant.</p><p>Friendship isn’t one-sided. It’s not her sacrificing herself to give Seb whatever he wanted, it’s Nicky making the more difficult choice to stay because it was the <em> right </em>one. It’s Tai standing by her side and giving her a shoulder to cry on when Seb couldn’t. He doesn’t know the extent of what’s going on with them—if it’s only partially platonic or if the sounds coming from the bed they shared were just meant to scratch an itch, but he’d forced himself to stop wondering a long time ago.</p><p><em> It should’ve been me</em>, he thinks, his eyes still trained on her, and that’s new. That thought has never creeped in before.</p><p>“Seb?” Gen asks, gripping one of his shoulders as she stands in front of him. “Bless him, he’s speechless!”</p><p>He’s able to put the pieces together quickly enough to recover. They <em> won.</em> He and Genevieve had won this stupid show. And he wants to be happy, wants the same relieved tears that are streaming down Gen’s face, wants to hold onto her for dear life and get the fuck out of this place, but he’s cemented in place.</p><p>Gemma’s still sat there with Tai as he consoles her. Not because they lost, but because she has to watch him win with someone who isn’t her, the woman he’d rejected her for. Days’ worth of pining hit him all at once and he feels the pain all the way to his toes. He misses her. God, he fucking misses her so much. Nicky’s words rattle around in his brain like a game of pinball: <em> What would’ve happened if we’d made different choices? </em> and Seb doesn’t have to think hard to know the answer. He doesn’t care where he’d be, if it was here or back home or a million other places, because he’d be there with Gemma.</p><p>Maybe he’d be happy. Maybe he’d be spared the what-ifs.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mouths to her. It’s the only thing he can think of to say that might even come close to the onslaught of emotion he’s feeling. She blinks as she absorbs his words. Then she laces her fingers with Tai’s and walks out.</p><p>Much to his surprise, twenty-five-thousand pounds doesn’t make him feel better. Getting piss drunk and rewatching the season doesn’t, either, especially when he watches Gemma spill her feelings to him all over again only to get rejected. He watches her brush away tears as she tries to explain to Tai in the kitchen, watches him hold her as she sobs, watches Bill’s smug expression when he realizes Seb had turned her down, watches her wonder out loud why she isn’t good enough.</p><p>“You<em> are,</em>” he says, only no one’s around to hear it.</p><p>Months go by in a flash. He struggles to adjust to his new life, the one where everyone wants a piece of him because he’s always denying them—no interviews, in person or in print, and he doesn’t stop when people recognize him on the street. He changes his phone number and hires someone to help him run the shop. Since the show ended, there’s only one thing anyone wants to talk about, and he’s not much in the mood to discuss it.</p><p>By the time October rolls around, he’s not chomping at the bit to discuss his failed relationship with Gen, either. It’s not like he can blame her, really—it’d be hard for anyone to be in a relationship with a fraction of a person. Even worse is being in a relationship with someone the whole country thinks is destined to be with someone else.</p><p>
  <em> “Do you know how hard it is to exist in this relationship knowing everyone thinks your soul mate isn’t me?” </em>
</p><p>About as hard as wondering if they’re right, Seb thinks.</p><p>He doesn’t feel much as he watches Genevieve collect her things from his place, barely enough to fit in a small box. A toothbrush, a few t-shirts, a plant. She asks him if he wants to keep a framed photo of the two of them that she’d kept on her side of the bed, and he agrees, knowing he’s only going to throw it away, but it seems kinder than making her do it.</p><p><em> This should hurt more</em>, he thinks. Seb’s had break ups before—nothing all that serious, just a few months-long girlfriends leaving because… well, because he’s <em> Seb</em>. Genevieve, while also a months-long girlfriend, was the first relationship he felt like he’d gotten right, which is why he thinks this should be one of those dramatic film moments where he comes to and begs her to stay, tells her he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks because he <em> knows </em>she’s the right one for him, and she relents and they kiss and they live happily ever after. But he doesn’t. He just gives her an awkward side-hug and wishes her well as he walks her to the door.</p><p>Word travels fast, especially when it’s Nicky who’s looking for it. Genevieve’s not gone an hour before Seb’s phone is ringing.</p><p>“What?” Seb greets him.</p><p>A snort of laughter greets him from the other end. “I should’ve known better than to expect a nicer hello than that.”</p><p>“Probably,” Seb agrees. “I’m sure I know why you’re calling.”</p><p>“She called El from the car. She sounded pretty broken up, so I figured I’d check on you, too.”</p><p>Seb strokes the coarse hair of his beard, busying his fingers. “I’m fine, mate. You know me.”</p><p>“Mm, I <em> do </em>know you, which is exactly why I’m calling to check on you.”</p><p>“Well, thanks.” Seb rolls his eyes. “Any other parts of my private life you’d like to pry into while you’ve got me?”</p><p>There’s not an ounce of hesitation in Nicky’s voice as he asks, “Are you gonna tell Gemma?”</p><p>“No,” Seb answers, because he thinks he’s being honest when he says it. “She was the elephant in the room my entire relationship, Nick. I doubt it’d look good to go crawling back to her the second it’s over. Besides,” he continues, “I haven’t spoken to her at all since the show ended. We’re not mates anymore, so…”</p><p>“<em>And </em> she blocked you everywhere,” Nicky adds in, just because he can.</p><p>Seb gives his screen the finger. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me. Almost forgot about that.”</p><p>They’re quiet for a few minutes, just soaking in the end of Seb’s relationship and Nicky’s incessant need to discuss it. Then, as if he was mentioning the weather and nothing at all of importance, he drops the bomb on Seb. “I saw her last weekend, you know.”</p><p>“Gemma?” he asks, pretending his stomach doesn’t drop.</p><p>“Yeah. Me and El went down to Leicester for one of Tai’s matches—”</p><p>“Tai?”</p><p>Nicky clicks his tongue. “Are you jealous?” he teases. Seb’s halfway to choking out a defense when he says, “You can relax—they’re still just mates, as always. But she drove and met us, so we made a weekend of it.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>“Would you have wanted to know?”</p><p>No. Not because he would’ve been jealous—because he extremely, one-hundred percent <em> would not </em> have been—but because he sees clearly how well that would’ve gone over with Gen. The press suffocated her with comparisons to Gemma, the pressure didn’t need to come from him, too.</p><p>At least that’s what Seb tells himself, because he’s not jealous.</p><p>“How, um—how was she?” he asks, hoping Nicky doesn’t notice he’s ignoring his question.</p><p>“Busy,” he answers. “I guess she’s blown up a lot since the show, which is fair since we all have, but Tai said she’s been working nonstop since she went back to the shop.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess he’d know.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so bitter.</p><p>Nicky sighs, putting on his <em> get real </em>voice. “Seb, come on, man. You made your choice.”</p><p>“I made a choice to try with Gen, not to lose Gemma.”</p><p>“It’s the same choice.”</p><p>Seb feels the familiar frustration rising to the surface. “How?” he asks. “Just because I wanted to give it a go with someone else, that means we can’t ever be friends again? She just fucks off forever and it’s <em> my </em>fault?”</p><p>“Yes,” Nicky answers simply. “I love you, bro, but you truly are thick. I really have to explain this to you?” When Seb stays quiet, Nicky sighs. “She didn’t do it to hurt you, she did it to protect herself. You can see that, right?”</p><p>“Well, it wasn’t fair,” Seb replies, his voice hoarse at such a low volume. “I miss her.”</p><p>Nicky’s eye roll is almost audible. “Then give yourself some time to get your shit together and then <em> do </em>something about it.”</p><p>Another month goes by before he feels ready. He lets himself heal as much as he needs to, which means extracting every last bit of himself from Genevieve’s life and going no-contact with her, the same way Gemma had the second she stepped out of the Villa. He wonders what it’s like to have the privilege of existing within her orbit, wonders if he’d survive or if he’d get sucked in like a black hole. If he did, he knows he’d go willingly.</p><p>It takes a lot of hyping up from Nicky to decide this is a good idea—or, at the very least, an idea that won’t end in him getting a door slammed in his face. More than anything, he wants to apologize to her. He’s not expecting forgiveness, or even friendship, but when the shop is slow, he indulges in a few daydreams in which they go back to the way they’d been before. Before she tried, before he chose Genevieve, before, before, before. Nicky’s more of a brother now than a friend, but he still misses the way it’d been with Gemma. She was safe, just like Genevieve had been, but in drastically different ways. Genevieve was the safety of familiarity, of not having to take risks; Gemma was the lighthouse in the storm, the place he could retreat to where the outside world couldn’t penetrate.</p><p>He’s on his third beer when he takes the plunge and schedules an appointment at her shop, paying the deposit without care.</p><p>It’s cancelled and refunded by the time he wakes up the following afternoon.</p><p>He books another. Tries for a Sunday afternoon instead, just so he doesn’t have to give her the satisfaction of knowing the real reason why she’d denied him. That, too, gets cancelled and refunded.</p><p>Seb wouldn’t describe himself as stubborn. Not when it comes to women, anyway. But he plays Gemma’s game until he’s better at it than her—books appointments for next May, two years from now, the next evening. She cancels and refunds each one, but he’s determined to wear her down. He can hear Nicky in his head. <em> Show her you’re serious</em>. He is. He’s always fucking serious.</p><p>Their game of cat-and-mouse lasts for six more scheduled and cancelled appointments before Seb gets a confirmation email. Might as well have won the lottery. The pitch of his voice is embarrassing as he calls Nicky and squeals.</p><p>“Is that Seb? Did it work?” he hears Elladine ask in the background. Then, almost sounding impressed, she says, “Wow. I still can’t believe he’s getting a tattoo.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you did it at all,” Nicky adds. “I’m proud of you.”</p><p>He makes the two-hour drive to Sheffield the following weekend, fingers drumming on the steering wheel the whole way to expend his pent-up energy. He feels like he’s going to be sick. At the halfway point, he considers turning around and just going home, shoving his head under his pillow and giving up entirely. Gemma would understand—it’s probably what she expects him to do anyway because it isn’t like he’s ever given her a reason to trust him.</p><p>Desperate to prove her wrong, he pushes the pedal further down.</p><p>Twenty minutes to go. He stashes his car in the first place he can find and stands on shaky legs, still fighting the temptation to call the whole thing off. But it’s a matter of principle now, and as he stands in front of the shop, with its intimidating black exterior sticking out like a sore thumb on the residential street, Seb thinks he might be more stubborn than he previously thought.</p><p>Pushing through the shop door feels like a cliché, the first day of the rest of his life. Even if he can’t fix things with Gemma, or at least leave on good terms with her, he finds comfort in knowing he’s changed. Less blasé, more certain of what he wants out of life and more confident that he can have it.</p><p>Seeing her again feels like slow motion. The general idea is the same, but the details have changed. Same green eyes that bring him to his knees, but her long, wild hair has been chopped into a sleek, shoulder-length bob. There’s a hoop through her nostril that hadn’t been there over the summer, and Seb thinks it suits her. As she takes him in, her face resets into an unreadable line, and it’s just like her not to give anything away.</p><p>“Hi,” he breathes.</p><p>She pretends to sort through a stack of paperwork behind a counter. “Hi, Seb.”</p><p>“I’m, uh—I have an appointment? But you know that. You cancelled it, like, fifty times,” he laughs awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. His body heat is threatening to suffocate him. “It’s… It’s really good to see you, Gemma.”</p><p>She nearly frowns as she shoves a clipboard into his hands. “The first sheet is the consent form. I just need you to sign and date it at the bottom. The second—”</p><p>“<em>Gemma</em>.”</p><p>She almost cracks. Almost falls right into the tempting web Seb has spent the last month weaving. She can tell he’s different, as if the dregs of summer and being the reason for someone’s broken heart have changed him. While he’s softened, Gemma’s done the opposite, has spent every second post-Villa trying to escape the most humiliating moment of her life. When she tries to fall asleep at night, all she can see is the condoling look in Seb’s eye as he tells her, for the millionth time, <em> “I need to find out if that could be something real.” </em></p><p>It hadn’t been, she thinks bitterly, though she knows it’s unfair. While the country mourned for her and her relationship that never was, they’d forced Seb into the role of the villain, the one who turned her down when she was obviously the better choice. By extension, Gen got the same treatment. She doesn’t need to experience it firsthand to know it’d be impossible for a relationship to thrive in an environment like that.</p><p>And, even though she found herself missing Seb at times, she tells herself it’s all been a bit overblown. They’d only known each other a few weeks. He was hardly the love of her life back then and he sure isn’t now, even as he stands in front of her threatening to promise her the world so long as she’ll just tell him they’re okay.</p><p>“The second,” she continues, sucking in a breath, “is the sketch of the design you sent me. Please let me know if there’s anything you’d like to change, otherwise we can get started as soon as I get set up.”</p><p><em> There’s a lot I’d like to change, </em>he thinks.</p><p>It isn’t until he’s in the chair that he realizes the extent of what he’s done. His first tattoo, inked into his skin permanently because his stupid, drunk brain decided it was the best way to get Gemma back into his life. Nicky had been the one to suggest a portrait of Doom—something with meaning that everyone could get behind, but not careless or insignificant enough to blow his cover.</p><p>Gemma places the stencil with razor-sharp precision, not a degree off-center. Seb checks it in a mirror and nods, trying to imagine what he’ll look like in a few hours when it’s there forever. Will he look cool, or will people see a tattoo of a cat on his forearm and assume he smells like cat piss? Christ, he really should’ve thought about this just a second longer.</p><p>Gently, she covers the outline with a topical anesthetic and turns on the tattoo gun. As it whirrs to life, Seb squeezes his eyes shut and tries to steady his breathing. He’s nervous. Really fucking nervous, actually, but he’ll never admit it.</p><p>“All right?” Gemma asks. “Do you need a minute?”</p><p>“No,” Seb lies, shaking his head. His bun sits uncomfortably at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay.” Then, in a voice so small he can barely hear it over the machine, he asks, “Will it hurt?”</p><p>“It might do,” Gemma replies. “You could’ve chosen a much worse spot, to be fair.”</p><p>“Oh,” he squeaks out, finding no comfort in that response whatsoever. “Have you ever had anyone pass out before?”</p><p>“A few, yeah.” She puts on a fresh pair of gloves and settles back in beside him. “Are you sure you’re ready?” Seb nods, knowing he’ll back out if she asks one more time. “Okay. Let me know if it gets too uncomfortable and I’ll stop.”</p><p>Every part of him is tense as the tattoo gun meets his skin. It’s a strange sensation—sort of like being stung by a wasp over and over again. It’s uncomfortable but stops just at the edge of being painful. He would almost describe the hum of the machine as hypnotizing, but then Gemma traces a line just a millimeter too close to his wrist and he gasps.</p><p>She works in a focused, efficient silence, pausing every so often to wipe at his arm with a kitchen roll. He wants to say something, make easy conversation like they used to, but the words bloom and die in his throat. Nothing seems appropriate. As she goes to change the needle on the gun, she also changes the music in the shop, and Seb’s stomach drops as he hears that familiar, sludgy guitar tone of “Hooch.”</p><p><em> “Babe, what the hell is on your shirt?” Tai had asked, taking in the unmistakable </em> Houdini <em> album cover as he pulled back the covers on their shared bed. “Is that a two-headed dog?” </em></p><p>
  <em> Gemma laughed and tugged at the bottom of her cropped t-shirt, just the faintest sliver of tattooed midriff peeking out. “I take it you aren’t a Melvins fan?” She tucked a long, tanned leg beneath her as she perched on the edge. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Part of me really wants to lie and say yes just so you think I’m cool.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Luckily for you, I already think you’re cool.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> As if by divine punishment, Seb and Genevieve hadn’t been able to swap beds when they’d coupled up, forcing them to sleep next to Gemma and Tai. It’d been a blessing in the ‘before,’ when Seb and Gemma were close and the first person each of them saw in the early light of the morning and the dark cover of night. But now, when there was nothing but distance between them, Seb wasn’t sure he’d survive being so close to her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You know Nirvana, yeah?” Tai nodded, earning a relieved sigh. “Okay, so Melvins were, like, massively important to the development of grunge as a genre. They formed in the early ‘80s, so they’d been around a long time by the time Nirvana came ‘round, right? Of course, everyone accused them of ripping off Melvins—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And you?” Tai teased. “What do you think, my little grunge princess?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Gemma had snorted loudly at that, playfully whacking Tai in the chest as she fit herself against him beneath the duvet. The last thing Seb remembered hearing before he shoved his head under the pillow was, “Well, I’m not wearing a Nirvana shirt, am I?” </em>
</p><p>It was the exact moment he realized how just much he’d missed her. Having to listen to her wax poetic about American grunge bands had been agonizing—a conversation <em>he, </em>not Tai, should’ve been having with her; a conversation he’d never have with Genevieve. It was the first time he’d had to come face-to-face with his decision. Gemma, in that moment and ever since, was everything he wanted, and he’d turned her down.</p><p>Of course he’d been attracted to Genevieve—she was beautiful and intelligent, had a kind word for everyone and was sunshine personified. Seb had never been with anyone like her, usually sticking to the emotionally unavailable girls in Doc Martens that popped into his shop or the ones in leather jackets and bored expressions he met at gigs, the ones he’d share a bowl with back at his flat before they had vacuous sex and they went back to their boyfriends. And, really, that’d been his undoing. What Seb had thought was branching out and trying something new had just been a poor attempt at finding someone to pull him out of the dark. Yes, Genevieve had been willing to do it, had all but extended her hand and tried, but Gemma…</p><p>Gemma had known all along what it meant to exist in that same darkness. Unlike Genevieve, Gemma hadn’t been willing to pull him out, she was willing to stand by him as he did it himself.</p><p>“Seb? You’re all done.” Gemma’s staring at him expectantly, nodding to the mirror once he makes eye contact. “What do you think?”</p><p>Glancing down, Seb sees a portrait of Doom in crisp, clean linework staring back at him—her big, blue eyes, the wisps of hair on her ears, the splotch of pink skin on her otherwise black nose. He can feel his heart swell just staring at it. Then, as his eyes trail further down, he sees four small flowers beneath her in complementary colors, connected by vines and leaves. He hadn’t asked for them, but now he wonders why not.</p><p>“It’s perfect. How did you know?” he asks.</p><p>“Doom and her four babies were front page news,” she explains, “since <em> you </em> weren’t talking.”</p><p>He contemplates his next words carefully as she begins wrapping his arm. “I—I wasn’t ready to talk about it,” he says over the deafening sound of blood in his ears. “About <em> us</em>, I guess. It wasn’t fair to Gen, and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”</p><p>Gemma’s green eyes pin him in place and threaten to stare straight through him. “What about now?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he rasps, unable to look at anything but those fucking eyes of hers. “Now is good.”</p><p>At the front of the shop, as he goes to pay, he realizes they’re the only ones there. Sundays and Mondays are by appointment only, she explains as she declines both his payment and the egregious tip he tries leaving instead. Seb tries not to wonder if it’s her way of saying they’ll be okay, even if they aren’t right now.</p><p>He offers to take her to dinner or buy takeaway, biting back a sardonic comment about being able to afford it now. Dinner’s no good—someone will surely spot them and talk, and neither of them are chomping at the bit to explain whatever this is to anyone—but takeaway is fine. Gemma shrugs on her coat, locks up the shop, and leads them out a back door, not bothering to wait for Seb to follow as she starts the short walk to her flat.</p><p>He can feel eyes on him, can almost hear the hushed whispers of couples asking each other if that’s really who they think it is. As much as he yearns for his old life, the one where he could walk down the street and no one would spare him a second glance, he’ll deal with the stares and judgment and assumptions because this reality has Gemma.</p><p>They arrive on her doorstep a few minutes later, cheeks pink and lungs sore from the cold. Inside, Seb’s greeted by the warmth of a place he never wants to leave, all exposed brick and earth tones and golden, ambient light. As Gemma shrugs off her coat, Seb takes in all the photos lining the walls, all her mates and her dad and brother, her childhood cat she’d told him all about, some landscape photos she’d taken on holidays. Then, at the end, a photo of her and Tai that doesn’t at all set him alight with jealousy and remind him of the hole he’d left when he chose someone else over her, how Tai got to swoop in and play the hero.</p><p>And he knows she’s watching, knows there are defenses locked and loaded, ready to go the moment he says a word, but he can’t bring himself to question it. It’s not his place. He’d relinquished that right months ago.</p><p>“Something to drink?” she asks as she moves into a kitchen large enough to tell Seb just how successful she is.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Gemma and her fucking coffee. Seb’s not sure he’s ever seen her drink anything else, but he accepts the mug when she hands it to him and keeps quiet. “You know,” she begins, leaning back against the counter, “I was surprised you did this.”</p><p>“So am I, if I’m being honest.”</p><p>A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Tons of great tattooists in Liverpool.”</p><p>“Sure, but they’re not you,” Seb retorts before he can talk himself out of it. “If I did this, it was only ever going to be with you.”</p><p><em> It wasn’t me when it mattered</em>, she almost snaps. Instead, she raises an eyebrow and sips her coffee. They’re safe with the island between them as she says, “I’m sorry about you and Gen.”</p><p>“It was bound to happen eventually.” <em> Because she’s not you. </em></p><p>“Maybe, but the end of a relationship is always difficult.” <em> Maybe things would’ve been different if you’d taken a chance on me instead. </em></p><p>“Not this time.” <em> I wouldn’t have let </em> you <em> go. </em></p><p>“How are you otherwise, then?” <em> Do you miss me? </em></p><p>“Yeah, fine.” <em> God, yes, I fucking miss you. </em></p><p>“We should probably have that conversation, yeah?” <em> I need to know there are regrets. </em></p><p>“I don’t know if there’s much to talk about, Gem. I fucked up and you did what you had to do to move on.” <em> I’ve never regretted anything more. </em></p><p>“Yet here you are.” <em> You came back. </em></p><p>“Here I am.” <em> You let me in. </em></p><p>The old Seb would’ve stayed where he was, too paralyzed by insecurity to make a move. Free of those chains, the new Seb moves around the counter to stand in front of Gemma. He hasn’t planned this far ahead, has no idea what to do as she stares up at him through impossibly thick lashes, but he knows this is where he’s supposed to be.</p><p>He’d never gotten the opportunity to see her up close like this—see the light smattering of freckles across her nose, the beauty mark near her eye, the way her eyes sparkle like real emeralds but hold the weight of the last few months. Sure, she’s stunning, everyone knows that—but there’s something about her that calls to him like a siren song. As much as he wants to pretend he’s in control, Seb knows he’s the most powerless he’s ever been.</p><p>In the Villa, he’d spent a few private moments wondering what Gemma would look like outside of it. There, she spent her days in swimsuits racy enough to make all the boys spend five minutes longer in the shower. They only seemed to get worse after he’d rejected her, as if the universe was hell bent on showing him what he’d turned down. Now, every part of him aches with want and she’s only in a pair of painted-on jeans and another cropped band t-shirt. The Hollies. He’d take this over her best swimsuit every time.</p><p>It’d been easy before with distance between them; in front of her, close enough to catch a hint of her perfume, is nothing short of dangerous.</p><p>“Seb…” It’s both a warning and a prayer. <em> Do something, so long as it’s the right thing. </em></p><p>Really, it’s the way her breath hitches that moves him. He carefully grabs hold of her wrist, his fingers straight to her pulse point. Erratic, just like his. Everything in him is screaming at him to stop fucking about and kiss her, but he needs to know. He <em> needs </em>Gemma to want this as desperately as he does, to feel just a fraction of everything he’s kept pent up since the summer.</p><p>In the same ragged, broken whisper she’d used, Seb asks, “How do you feel about me now?” His words dance across her neck, her skin pebbling under his breath. She gasps as his thumb brushes against her hip.</p><p>“Do you want me to be honest?” she asks. <em> Please. God, fuck—please kiss me. </em></p><p>His thumb disappears under the fabric of her shirt and Seb nearly loses any semblance of self-control as soon as he feels warm skin. “Please do.” <em> I want you to hurt me the way I hurt you. </em></p><p>“I was so mad at you,” she hisses, trying to memorize the way the pads of his fingers feel against her ribcage. <em> Why aren’t you already kissing me, you fucking prick? </em> “Not because you didn’t want me, but because you were a fucking coward. And then,” she continues, her head lolling back as Seb’s face inches closer to her neck, “I had to watch her take everything I wanted from you.”</p><p>“And you?” Seb murmurs in her ear. “Did you take what you wanted from Tai?”</p><p>Her fingers are working at the buttons on Seb’s flannel before she can think too much about it. Not that she’d be able to—she can feel the wetness pooling between her thighs and the only legible thought in her brain is <em> more! more! more! </em>“He knew what it was.”</p><p>He presses his lips to the side of her neck and sucks hard, the sound of her groan like a zap of lightning headed straight to his cock. “Knew he wasn’t me?”</p><p>“Yes,” she rasps, and Seb can’t tell if she’s answering his question or pleading with him. “<em> Fuck</em>, yes.”</p><p>He can feel it, the beginning of his unraveling—knows if he keeps going it’ll either go too far or not far enough. There was never a possibility of middle ground with Gemma, he realizes—knows now why she had to block him out of her memory, because the reality of her, of <em> them</em>, is incapacitating. Nothing else exists to him in this moment but her and the way she feels against him, trapped between his body and the cold marble of the countertops. His body is on autopilot as his hands settle in the curves of her hips and pull her against him.</p><p>He gives her just enough time to drink in the feel of him before he crashes their lips together, the lightning striking over and over as he kisses her with all the purpose and greed of a man finally getting what he wants. A brief moment of relief, then the unmistakable flood of desire. Gemma’s lips are so soft he can’t think, can’t remember his name or how they got here or anything leading up to it. And, like a gift, she’s kissing him back, eager and so sure it dizzies him. She tastes like coffee and autumn and redemption.</p><p>Her hands move inside his shirt, tease across his abdomen as they move to his shoulders, pushing the fabric off until it’s crumpled on the floor.</p><p>“Gemma, I—”</p><p>“I pretended he was you sometimes,” she whispers, her admission like a Sunday morning confessional. Seb’s body jerks in response, his cock grinding against her hip. “You have no fucking idea how bad I wanted you.”</p><p>“Fuck,” he chokes, “I <em> do. </em> I do know. You—” He gasps as her fingers work at his belt. “You ruined me, Gemma. I can’t— <em> oh my god</em>.”</p><p>Whatever he wants to say is a faint memory as her hand moves inside his jeans. All the blood in his body had pooled south long ago, and as her fingers trace along his erection, palming him through his briefs, his body threatens to give out right under him.</p><p>“Was it like this with her, Seb? Did she touch you like this?”</p><p><em> Friction</em>, his mind screams. His hips jut forward as he groans, his erection caught in the soft valley at the tops of her thighs, so close to what he really wants he nearly starts begging. Just the thought of being inside her draws a whimper from the back of his throat, and he knows he needs to get there, he better start working toward it, but he can’t stop rocking his hips against her long enough to peel off her jeans.</p><p>Her free hand threads into his hair and pulls. “Well?” His mind goes blank as her tongue traces along his jugular.</p><p>“Put your arms up,” he orders her. As he pulls her top off, his eyes drag along every inch of decorated skin. Someone had erroneously decided he was attractive enough for reality television and now he gets to see someone like Gemma with her shirt off; it’s almost impossible to believe.</p><p>He kisses her again, licks into her mouth hot and forceful so he doesn’t have to answer her question. The answer, of course, would be no, it hadn’t been like this with Gen or anyone else. Seb’s no virgin, has had plenty of needy hookups in his life, but none had left him nearly cumming in his jeans from dry-humping like he’s a fucking teenager again. So, no, it hadn’t been like this before, and he doesn’t trust himself enough not to open his mouth and ruin any shot he might have at it ever being like this again.</p><p>He catches Gemma’s hands as they move to shove his jeans down and, <em> God</em>, he needs every ounce of self-restraint he possesses. “Gem, wait,” he says, and his tone is serious enough to stop her. She blinks up at him with those green eyes, pupils blown just as much as his, and immediately she knows. “Before—<em>if </em> this goes any further, I… I need you to know I’m sorry.” A hum of acknowledgment vibrates against his neck. “I fucked up. It should’ve been you—it was <em> always </em>you. Its been you ever since.”</p><p>Gemma knows he means it—she’d seen the change in him the second he strolled into her shop with all the purpose in the world. She’d seen it again the second he rounded the kitchen island, hell bent and determined to take every last thing he wanted from her, sees it now. And she knows how hard it must’ve been for him to take the leap at all, yet he had. Whatever fear and crippling doubt he’d felt, he’d pushed it aside and showed up anyway. Months ago, that wouldn’t have been the case, he would’ve given in to those feelings, and maybe it’d been divine intervention that kept them from coming together like this back then, why it hadn’t worked. Patience is truly a virtue.</p><p>She knows they’re standing at the edge of a cliff. It’s time to decide if they want to back off or jump.</p><p>“Then show me.”</p><p>There’s surrender, the fumbling of trembling fingers on buttons and zippers, and the sound of hitched, panting breaths that Seb will replay when he’s alone in the dark, cradled in the safety of his bed. There are moments they forget to breathe, too consumed by the newness of one another, of all the secrets and crevices yet to be discovered. There’s blinding heat, slickness on fingers and palms, the cease of all brain activity except <em> more, more, more, </em>always more. There’s urgency and frenzy as Seb hoists her up, fingers digging in to the flesh right beneath her backside as he places her on the island. There might’ve been shame in the way she positions herself at the edge, her body on display and perfectly within his reach, but not with Seb.</p><p>He wants to slow down. He wants to draw this out, prove to her that just because he owns a music shop but doesn’t play guitar doesn’t mean he can’t do other things with his hands really, really well. He wants to taste her, wants her to taste <em> him</em>, but he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life and there’s no time. It’s a moment that requires a level of patience he doesn’t possess.</p><p>“Are you sure?” he asks, perhaps for his own sake. His body is already wound so tight, on the verge of snapping, and he knows he’s not going to last long. All he can think about is relief.</p><p>Gemma groans as she clumsily reaches for his hips, needing him closer. She wants to swear, ask him if he’s fucking serious, but she bites her tongue. They’re well beyond the point of no return, but Seb still needs that last bit of reassurance, needs to know it’s going to mean as much to her as it is to him, needs to somehow promise her he’s not going to let her down again, but he needs to know she’s still going to be there at the end of it all, waiting.</p><p>“Yes, love, I’m sure,” she says softly. All she’s ever been sure of is Seb.</p><p>He pushes himself inside slowly, dragging a guttural moan out of Gemma that nearly makes him black out. He’d felt the heat of her around his fingers before, but it feels overwhelming now that he’s surrounded by it. “Fuck,” he groans, dropping his head to her shoulder as he nears the hilt. He’d fantasized about this moment so many times and not once had he done it justice.</p><p>Once he’s fully buried in her, he has to force himself to stay still. One or two rolls of his hips and it’d all be over if not, and it’s only made worse by Gemma’s shameless whine. “Seb, <em> please</em>.”</p><p>“Oh god,” he hisses, “please stop moving. This is gonna be very embarrassing for me if you don’t stop.”</p><p>He thinks of anything he can to keep himself from blowing early. American baseball. Wet socks. The smell of his nan’s house. Overcrowded airports. The irredeemable disappointment of <em> St. Anger </em>by Metallica.</p><p>Slowly, he starts moving, not convinced he’d given himself enough time to calm down. Each stroke feels hotter, tighter, better than the one before. Their hands are grasping at anything they can reach. Gemma’s mouth finds a spot behind his ear and sucks, needing to hear him. And he obliges, sounds spilling out of his throat that not even Seb recognizes. It’s never been like this with anyone else—the desperation, the raw energy. He’s never needed someone this badly.</p><p>“Fuck, Gem,” he moans. “You feel so fucking good.”</p><p>It’s all too much. Every part of Gemma is an assault on his senses, her body designed solely to bring him to his knees. He can feel the start of his orgasm in his toes, knowing the finish line isn’t far off now, but he refuses to cross it alone. Moving his hand between them, his fingers find her clit and circle it slowly. A low, strangled sob contrasts sharply with the high-pitched squeak of her ass on the island counter. Seb is the greediest he’s ever been as his hips and fingers work faster, knowing he’s going to rip her orgasm out of her and earn every bit of it.</p><p>He can feel how close she is. Each time she clenches around his cock, he’s sure it’s going to squeeze the life right out of him. A death he’d experience willingly, he knows. He keeps moving—harder, deeper, faster, knowing some combination of those things will push her over the edge they’ve both been teetering on the entire time.</p><p>“Oh fuck, I’m—” is all she’s able to choke out before the dam breaks. Seb blinks back tears, his eyes watering at the sheer effort he’s putting into holding out. Or maybe it’s the culmination of it all, of this being the ending to what they’d started and abandoned and picked back up again.</p><p>His own release comes right after, chasing her the same way he has been since that first day in the Villa.</p><p>They’re a sweat-slicked, spent mess. Seb hisses as he slowly pulls out of her, and his cheeks flush with embarrassment as their eyes lock. “I truly did not come here for this,” he tries to explain, but Gemma’s already giggling, and the sound is so pure he wants to bottle it up and keep it forever.</p><p>“But you <em> did </em>come,” she jokes.</p><p>And it’s such a small thing, her ribbing him like this, but it stings in a way he never thought he’d feel again. Not painful, just unexpected. He’d truly thought he’d lost her, and now he’s just fucked her on her kitchen island and she’s cracking jokes at his expense like they’d never fallen out at all.</p><p>In a moment of clarity he’d never gotten with Genevieve, Seb thinks he might be in love with her. Really, he knows he isn’t, not yet at least, but it’s a feeling that comes with the knowledge that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be. After his falling out with his parents, he’d never truly felt like he belonged anywhere, with anyone, and he wonders now if it’s because his universe had been holding out for Gemma.</p><p>
  <em> What would’ve happened if we’d made different choices? </em>
</p><p>It doesn’t matter, Seb thinks for the first time, because he’d do it all again the same exact way just to wind up here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, everyone! Thank you for reading~</p><p>This is the first full smut scene I've ever written. I know it's probably lacking, but I hope I made up for it in other ways. The story didn't feel complete without it so I struggled through it with a lot of help and encouragement from the Discord server. Thank you all for being wonderful!</p><p>As always, I'm open to comments, concerns, critiques. Let me know what you think!</p><p>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>